Failure
by Litfreak89
Summary: A want-to-be Deatheater prepares a gift for his Lord. Loosely inspired by the novel American Psycho


_Written for the QLFC, Round 11_

 _Team: Pride of Portree_

 _Beater 2 Prompt: American Psycho — Bret Easton Ellis_

 _Optional Prompts:_

 _3\. (object) broken mirror_

 _5\. (object) a torn dress_

 _12\. (emotion) shame_

 _Word count (not including AN): 1094_

* * *

Failure

He'll respect me this time; he'll have to. Blood, and lots of it, cover the walls, floor…the bed. Surely this time he'll accept that I'm truly on his side.

A torn dress, blue, or at least it was—at one time—blue, hangs haphazardly on the bed, the only remnants of its former owner. The girl, some Muggle who had crossed paths with me in front of the Leaky Cauldron, lies just as tattered, pieces of her scattered about the room.

 _But is this enough?_ I rummage through her belongings, finding some pictures of an older couple and some boys who look just like her. _Maybe if I take care of them, as well…_

No! It must be enough! The Dark Lord must be pleased by now. Of course, he knows. Volde—ah, the Dark Lord, knows all!

I run down the stairs, planning to make my way to the nearest Apparition point when I remember that I'm a potential Death Eater who isn't restrained by normal wizarding rules. Regardless, I find the point and turn, pausing to think to myself.

 _Is it truly enough for him?_ I run my fingers through my stringy blond hair. _Is that one girl enough?_ Shaking my head, I make my way back to her flat, planning on using it until I could find some more offerings for my Dark Lord. No one would have to know just yet. Right?

* * *

Getting Nott to the flat was easy. We've spent enough time together that my asking him up for a drink was not suspicious. He never even blinked when I turned on the music, just asked if it was the new Weird Sisters' song.

What Theo Nott had forgotten was that he had slandered the Dark Lord mere weeks before. This—man—this Slytherin! He had betrayed all he stood for!

The torn dress stares back at me through the shards of the mirror I broke in my gleeful dismembering of Nott. I sit down beside my old friend and pick up a piece of mirror, careful not to cut myself. If I do, the blood will be tainted, and the Dark Lord will never accept it as an offering.

 _Surely he knows by now!_ I throw the piece of glass down, causing the image—that bloody dress!—to multiply in number. To mock me and my failure to capture my Lord's attention. I've slaughtered Muggle after muddy Muggle, but nothing!

I stand quickly. Nott's death will surely grant me an audience with him! The death of a Pureblood will most definitely not go unnoticed!

* * *

Walking into the Leaky Cauldron a few days later, I feel utterly defeated and ashamed. It has been a week of Obliviating Muggles who come by the girl's flat. A week of killing random hookers and junkies off the street, just hoping to get a nod from an absent Dark Lord.

I sit down next at a group of Purebloods with whom I associate from time to time. They nod my way and go back to their conversations.

"So," a Slytherin two years below me named Tybalt bellows out drunkenly, "what great deeds have you been busy accomplishing, Halford?" The redhead, reminiscent of the blood-traitor Weasleys, grins. "What poor soul have you unleashed your own personal Hell upon?"

"Killing Muggles and Theo Nott, and planning which of you will be next," I respond without thinking. Silence ensued. Then laughter.

Loud laughter. " _You_? Seriously, Halford? You think that _you_ , coward extraordinaire, one who makes Neville Longbottom look like a Muggle superhero, _you_ have killed not only some Muggles, but Theo Nott? Champion duelist? Pride of Slytherin house? Husband to the Minister for Magic, herself? Come on!" Pansy Parkinson laughs again. "I'd sooner believe Draco Malfoy has given his fortune to a Muggle orphanage in Harry Potter's name!"

 _How dare they! How dare they mock my sacrifices, my gifts for the Dark Lord? None of these buffoons are worthy to lick the dirt from his—_

"Halford!" I look up to see one of my employers, Ron Weasley, walk up to the table. He sneers in the direction of the other Slytherins. He then turns back to me. "I thought you were through with these unsavoury folk, Halford. Turned over a new leaf and all?"

 _If you only knew how close I am to slitting your throat, Weasley!_ "Well, you see, sir…"

Tybalt laughs again. "I knew you couldn't have killed anyone, Halford. You don't have the bollocks. You can't even stand up to a Weasley!"

Weasley hides a smirk. I see it before he frowns again. "Halford, you killing folks again? I hear of any more Muggles disappearing, and I'm going to have to send Harry your way, mate." A small chortle escapes. "I'm off. See you in the morning?"

"Yes, sir," I reply without looking at my tablemates. Shame sweeps over me, and I long to be back in my—her—flat, back to the blood I've spilled for _him_.

 _They'll be sorry they mocked me. When he finally rewards my work, they'll see._

* * *

As soon as I Apparate back into the flat, I realize something is wrong. My work, all my efforts have been erased! No mirror lies broken on the floor! No blood covers the carpet, the walls! And her dress—it's gone!

I wilt down onto the floor, ashamed that all my hard work has been for naught. My careful planning, the nights I've spent sacrificing disgusting Muggles for _his_ attention—nothing! And Theo—has this been the work of the Ministry? Has the Minister caught wind of her husband's death and demanded it all be hidden away? For truly, this is a fate worse than Azkaban or even death, the dismantling of my gift to Lord Voldemort, the only one who can truly appreciate it!

I Apparate back to the Leaky Cauldron and back to those who still laugh at the sight of me.

"Have…have you seen Theo Nott this week?"

Tybalt guffaws. "I thought you killed him, mate!"

I shrug. "I…ah…of course I didn't. I was just…" I sit down. "I don't feel well."

Tybalt claps me on the back. "Lay off the Firewhiskey, mate. I had drinks with Nott just yesterday, and he didn't even mention you. I tell ya, it's like a weight has been lifted from him since ol' Voldemort's death." I suck in a sharp breath. "He's a new man, as we all are." He turns to me. "Butterbeer on me? Might clear your head."

I nod. A clear head is just what I need.


End file.
